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I will miss the grandeur of old stone churches both stark unadorned Protestant and elaborate ornate Catholic ones. I will also miss how the Europeans re-imagine old architecture in new ways, such as the light show they throw on Vienna’s massive St. Stephen’s Cathedral at night. Unforgettable, too, are the rivers of tourists clicking digital cameras at the sculptures of saints inside while milling around people at prayer. There is something time-warpish about seeing stone figures of long-ago Christians juxtaposed with today’s Christians in the pews surrounding them.

Tourists and congregants mix it up inside St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna.

Our Swiss town is in bloom from the ground all the way up to the treetops. The air is delicious.

Everyone complains about McDonalds food, but does anyone appreciate its value as an economic indicator?

Believe it or not, the price of a Big Mac tops the list of economic indicators at an international statistics website, which makes perfect sense to us because at some point, we all have to rely on a Big MacAttack to raise our blood sugar levels when overseas and surrounded by local cuisine aka unidentifiable food.

NationMaster.com reports that in Canada a Big Mac costs $3.01 while in Switzerland it costs $4.93. I don’t want to cast aspersions on NationMaster.com, but hamburgers here cost more than that. Dave estimates we pay $6 (Cdn) for a Big Mac, or $12.50 if we decide to live it up and order the Big Mac Meal. To be fair, NationMaster sources this particular piece of data back to 2006.

Nonetheless, Canadians will be thrilled to know that according to IMB International, while the Swiss are renowned for their fidelity to modelling to the world how to stay on-time and fiscally sound, Canada still ranks higher for business efficiency at 5th place. Switzerland was 8th. This data is seven years old, but it makes my homeland look good so I’m not going to search for more recent figures.

Our GDP per capita is six per cent higher, too. That’s another figure I’m not going to update. And our gross national income is a whopping 146% higher – take that Switzerland! Canada rules.

On a more personal financial note: Dave’s Swiss salary is on par with his Canadian salary, but our cost-of-living is significantly higher here. I should emphasize significantly (the triple-threat of emphasis – bolded, italicized and underlined!), all the more so because we are living a very green, pared-back lifestyle here compared to our lives in Canada.

In Canada, we have a 2400-square-foot four-bedroom house; here we have a 400-square-foot single room bachelor suite. There, we have two cars in our garage. Here, we walk everywhere we go and rely on trains for out-of-town trips. There, we eat restaurant food probably once a week, more when we were both working. Here, we dine out about once every three months (this excludes sandwich and hamburger joints where we fill up while touring). By all counts, we should be spending less money here, but we actually spend more. A lot more.

And now for less painful statistics …

BlogBits

This week on Hobonotes stats page:

Top three countries: Canada, U.S. and Switzerland. Oddly for some reason, Canada pounds out everyone else with over 200 hits while the U.S. logged only 60. I know Americans will not take this sitting down.

Bottom three countries: Greece, Denmark and Austria

Readers from Japan: Two.

Oddest search term: “Loads of people riding elephants in India.” As this blog covers neither crowd issues, pachyderms or India, I am at a loss to explain how Google brought this reader to this site.

Blogoddity: This week is the first when the topic of Paris food did not make it to the top ten of most read posts. I know the French will not take this sitting down.

The Viennese are not the sort to sit back on their ancestors’ architectural laurels.

We visited the massive St. Stephen’s Cathedral that dates back to the first half of the 1100’s, first laying our eyes on it in daytime. It’s an impressive sight with its cavernous Romanesque and Gothic design. That beauty was amplified when we happened across it at night and discovered virtual paint cans of colour splashed on the building, both inside and out, and by “virtual,” I mean not real paint cans, but a light show that casts the entire edifice in a rainbow. Adding to our amazement, the pipe organ blasted into this cornucopia of colour. Austria. You must love it. You have to. Awesome Austria.

Just to prove that Europeans don’t just build on North American aboriginal graves, they did the same here. The site was originally believed to be an open field, but in 2000, plumbing problems led to some excavations that yielded graves. Yes, you discover the most interesting things in the aftermath of plumbing foibles.

And for those interested in a little Bible history, St. Stephen was an early Christian evangelist preaching to the Jews, who was summarily martyred by stoning. That was savage indeed, and the weirdest thing is that this ancient form of execution continues even to this day.

This is not to pick on the Jews who in St. Stephen’s case were the ones doing the stoning, because it has been practised nearly worldwide as a ‘legitimized’ death penalty. Today it is prescribed in Islam’s Sharia law and practised in Islamic states. A recent case came to global attention where a 13-year-old girl was sentenced to die in this manner for being raped by her brother. Yes, that’s how backward Islam is towards women. Her sentence was altered, but reportedly other stonings continue.

North America appears to be the only continent free of execution-by-stoning. I could be wrong about this so if any archeological/anthropological/historical experts care to correct me, I will add their comments in here.

Just because the practice is barbaric does not mean it doesn’t have rules. Everything has rules, and so it is with stoning that even the size of the stones must conform to standard, lest a single large stone kill the victim too quickly.

Surprisingly, some tried to introduced Sharia law in family courts in Canada. Read here to learn more about it. In the spirit of multiculturalism, some people tried to take a non-judgmental aloof attitude toward this campaign, but frankly, any culture that tries to import a system of law that in some places includes stoning rape victims is just stark-raving mad and I for one would be happy to deport anyone trying to import it to my homeland. I’m just saying.

But that is another thing. Here are some more photos of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, an ancient Christian monument that brings to mind a modern Islamic practice. Who would have guessed it?

Every destination we eye brings forward the ultimate travel question: What sites can we skip?

It runs counter to the usual travel query – what are the must-sees.

That is the wrong question. It works backwards in that it assumes an infinite amount of time is available whereas even the most summary of polls will pile on a backlog of tourist-to-do’s that at the end of your journeys will evoke a haunting suspicion that you have left the “must-sees” unseen and for years to come as you ruminate on your travels, it will be in an air steeped in the stench of bygone opportunities.

And that is not what you paid for when you ponied up to the travel web-site and booked your holiday.

So edit your list.

The ultimate travel satisfaction is not in aiming high, nor low, but for somewhere between mediocre and medium. Forget those travel-writers who make it sound possible to see it all in 36 hours (a la New York Times travel section).

We have taken serious runs at seeing cities in 36 hours, but to keep up with the NY Times version would require copious consumption of Red Bull and absolutely no sleep (although this would save on hotel bills).

And so, I have been to Paris, but not the inside of the Louvre (long line-up).

I have lived in Spain and not gone near the lauded Camino del Santiago pilgrim walk (I read the Bible and learned that heaven does not require hiking, although if you like a good walk, go ahead).

I have been to Germany and not seen a holocaust museum (although I heartily believe that everyone who complains about Israel being knee-jerk over-defensive should visit at least five holocaust museums).

But I drift from my point, which is, what can you skip on your trip? Well? What can you skip?

More ramblings on this later.

A view of Vienna from the hill overlooking Schoenbrunn palace is beautiful, but could I have missed it? Yes. I could have.

I am always glad to see any statue that was not created between 1940 and 2010, so I am happy I did not miss this. On the other hand, Europe has about 893-gazillion horse and warrior sculptures, so if I did miss this, I would not mind terribly.

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Solo statuary was sheathed against the weather, but the garden pavilion's scultpures were on display.

The great thing about Schoenbrunn is that while you must pay to get inside the palace, the grounds function as a city park. Joggers, strollers, sightseers, pondside ponderers all linger quite happily on the spacious grounds.

The park is almost square at 1 x 1.2 kilometres and has been on the Unesco World Heritage Sites since 1996. A brief word about Unesco: What the heck? We visited a Unesco site that called into question the merits of Unesco designation. This, however, was not that site. Schoenbrunn is definitely Unesco-worthy.

As we noted with other-things-Austrian, everything was tidy and well-kept. Litter was at a scant minimum and we did not spot a single drunk lounging on the park benches.

I know this sounds very snotty to look down my nose at public drunkenness, but nothing can upset the day’s happy balance quite the way that having a drunken wretch glare menacingly at you while muttering something in German. It is even less pleasant to have a drunk stagger behind you, casting his alcoholic breath over your airspace and waving his cigarette a little too close to your coat.

Am I saying this has happened to me? Of course it has, but not in Austria.

Schoenbrunn's garden rises upward, so it gives a beautiful view of Vienna below.

An unimaginative, but informative perspective on Schoenbrunn's garden pavilion, which houses a very nice and surprisingly affordable restaurant.

When the Austrians say they want high ceilings, they mean high ceilings, dangit.

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Yup. It is a palace, alright. This is one of Schonbrunn Palace's large ballrooms, and the site of the Vienna summit between U.S. President John F. Kennedy and Soviet Premier Nikita Khruschev on June 4, 1961 in the aftermath of the Cuba Missile Crisis. Just as amazing, it is also the place where Dave developed an attachment to audio-guides. I still preferred to read the plaques. Anytime an audio guide starts out describing inane material, such as elaborating on the formation of the society that provides the audio guide, my brain goes into cold storage.

I’ve lost track of what I’ve posted and what I’ve not from our recent travels eastward, so I’ll start with the beginning: A visit to Schonbrunn Palace in Vienna.

Our overnight train from Zürich arrived in Vienna at 7:30 a.m., and despite our hopeful queries to the porter, it was clear that we had to vacate our cozy little sleeping compartment within 5 minutes of arrival, 10 minutes at most. We staggered into the almost empty Vienna train station, which is possibly the most polished, clean and criminal-free train station we have happened upon thus far in Europe.

This is one of the palace's many wood stoves that is fed wood from the rear, so as not to mess with palace decor. These are huge - eight feet in height by my estimation.

One little shop was open, so we scurried in that direction, but it turned out to be a book shop, leading us to believe the Viennese fall into seizures if they are without reading material. Clean train station, devoted readers – we liked Austria already. The book shop gal directed us to the tram stop just outside of the station where we caught a tram to Schonbrunn palace, arriving there before opening, so we wandered the grounds a little, then discovered the palace doors were open so we were able to wait in warmth.

The royal bed.

Schonbrunn is the childhood home of Marie Antoinette who along with her surviving siblings (16 children in total, not sure how many died at birth) was given fairly free rein in the palace and its 20-acre grounds of marble statues, troops of trees, trimmed gardens and ponds. They were also encouraged to play with non-royal children. Shocking.

Despite some historical writings saying that Marie Antoinette’s parents had married for love, the palace audio-guide said the opposite, that her mother Maria Theresa reportedly did not like her father, so she was absent most of time. Only one of Marie Antoinette’s siblings was allowed to marry for love, the rest were all political liaisons. It explains so much about the dysfunction seen in royal families. It may also explain why so many were named Maria – Maria Theresa, Maria Josepha, Maria Carolina, Maria Amalia. The imagination must have been bred out of the family. On the other hand, when a woman has 13 to 16 children it might be economical to be able to just shout Maria when summoning one or more of the flock.

If this were your "comfy" summer home furniture, you might name 11 children Maria, too. The edifice in the corner is another wood stove.

The palace is worth the trip – it shows heavily ornamented Viennese design, and a few surprises in that most of the royal family’s private living rooms are surprisingly small, for a palace, that is. Schonbrunn is also the location of what the audio guide said is Mozart’s first concert at the age of six, but a quick run through the Internet suggests he had other notable concerts before that. I will rely on some music history buff to correct me.

Plan on taking at least 45 minutes for the short tour of about 20 rooms, another hour or more for the gardens. A lovely garden restaurant is behind the palace, but the hike up to it is a steep one. The truly curious could spend an entire day at Schonbrunn.

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This is Fuhrich's upper dining room where we ate the first time we visited there. Grizelda would not allow us back upstairs on our second visit.

My former Times Colonist newspaper colleague, food-writer Pam Grant, gives restaurants a second chance when things go wrong on her first visit there. But, sometimes the ones who get it right on the first go need a second visit as well, just in case that first visit was a fluke. That’s what we learned the second time we stopped in at Vienna’s Fuhrich restaurant.

Two days after our first divine dinner there, we returned to find the restaurant jam-packed, as was expected. The food is exceedingly good, after all.

A waiter pointed us toward a table along the wall on the main floor. If I was having doubts that I could squeeze between the other patrons in that row, I wasn’t alone as I could see from the aghast expressions on the faces of those very patrons. I said no thanks and pointed to another empty table by the front of the restaurant, overlooking the street.

And that is when I fell in the path of the maitre d’ pit-of-doom. As the waiter hesitated, a woman of about 45-55 swept in, her black pixie* all hard-edged with her dark eyes flashing angrily. She indicated another table in the centre of the room that looked to be sized to suit pre-schoolers.

So I said no again. I had this crazy notion that as a customer, I should enjoy a reasonable degree of comfort, and not be forced to relive the cramped wooden-desk epoch that was my Grade 4 school year.

Of course, this was a mistake. She put us at a third table that did not bank along with other tables, so we were away from the crowd, but it was straight in the line of wind gusts from the front door (which was kept open as they were dealing with a delivery).

At this point, I still assumed the professional decorum of wait staff was in effect, but seconds later, I realized my error. The woman, let’s call her Grizelda, came to our table and dropped two menus down before us.

It was the kiss of dining death.

Allow me to explain: The custom at this restaurant is for the waiter to open the menu and present it to the patrons. The closed menus on our table telegraphed that their good graces were closed to us as well.

Good food at Fuhrich - Weinerschnitzel.

In the meantime, later diners came in and took the coveted window table. They spoke German. Not that this had anything to do with it, but I have noticed that sometimes people take out their xenophobia on non-German-speaking foreigners, such as at a bakeshop two blocks from our Swiss hotel where the server grabbed a croissant with her bare muggy fist and dropped it down the bag as though it were dog excrement, instead of using tongs or wearing gloves.

Where was I?

Oh yes, Grizelda. Another waiter appeared to take our order.

That is the second sign of dining disaster – the relay. The relay is what happens when things have got off on such a bad foot, they transform your table into a baton that gets passed from one server to another. It is, pardon the pun, a recipe for disaster. In theory, however, it does present an opportunity for the incoming waiter to help the customers forget the ineptitude (or hostility) of the outgoing waiter. There’s no reason why this should not work, but Grizelda’s ugly mood cast a pall over the other waiters who all looked jittery and frightened.

When this server brought our bread, I asked where the spread was. Two days earlier, our bread came with a tasty spread of butter, creamed cheese, parsley, garlic and some un-named but heavenly spice (I am taking a guess at the ingredients). He said he would look for some.

Having worked in a restaurant, I know that spreads and such are prepared earlier in the day when the restaurant is quiet, and then usually sit in a fridge waiting to be dealt out to diners with as much speed as can be seen at a Las Vegas blackjack table. I’m not saying this is how this restaurant works, but fetching a condiment is not exactly a massive undertaking. If it were, how could they ever manage the volume of complexities in running the deep-fryer?

After a decent interval, I headed toward the kitchen, just outside of which I found our waiter standing next to Grizelda. When I asked about the spread, they flustered and then he said, ‘night time only.’ He gave a long convoluted explanation on why serving this condiment would be on par with demanding everyone eat from upside-down tables. I asked him to find some anyway.

I knew I would never see it. Grizelda’s mouth was pursed, her nose upturned, her lids lowered. She was furious.

I returned to our table. A third waiter brought us our food, signifying we were now in the third leg of the race and barreling quickly toward the finish line.

I am happy to report that the food was again absolutely fabulous. Obviously, no one had taken the time to inform the cook that we were miscreant patrons.

We finished our food and when the bill arrived, it had a 4-Euro charge for the absent spread. This is a neat trick. When we actually received the spread two days earlier, we didn’t have to pay any extra for it, but when the spread does not come, it costs more. Possibly because it was invisible spread.

Happily, we did not have to argue over this as Waiter #2 came over and explained the error, then produced a correct bill. Even though he was Waiter #2, this latest handover signalled that we had entered the fourth leg of the relay, and it was time to go, which we did.

Later, Dave and I mused over what we might have done to avoid such an uncomfortable situation, when we suddenly remembered we were the customers. It’s not our job to worry about Grizelda. It was her job to worry about us. In short, the only cure for such a train wreck of a meal would have been to leave as soon as Grizelda’s disapproval showed itself. But we couldn’t do that. Remember, the food is fantastic.

Rating (ranked twice, with the first number for the first visit, the second for the second, you get the drift. 1 is low, 10 is high)

Setting: 8 and 8 – The restaurant is clean, and decorated in rich woods, reminiscent of a well-to-do English pub.

Food: 10 and 10 – There is nothing disappointing in the food here. The portions are sizeable and everything is delicious.

Service: 10 and 0 – If you avoid Grizelda, you should have a fine time.

*It’s possible that she had her hair done in an updo, but I think it was a pixie cut. I cannot say with certainty because I had to keep my eyes averted most of the time to protect them from getting lasered out by Grizelda’s glare.

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ho·bo [hoh-boh] noun, plural -bos, -boes.1. a tramp or vagrant.
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The Land of Chocolate

Everyone loves a country so filled with chocolate that they have to stack it.

Write a novel in a month, what insanity.

Novel Update: For those who are interested in this sort of thing, I finished a very rough draft of my second novel in November 2011, a very grey and drizzly month in Switzerland, which also happens to be perfect writing weather. After multiple editings, it is out searching for a home. Fingers crossed, it will find one.